


Christmas on Albedo Brave

by Commander_5279_Morai



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Child Cal Kestis, Christmas on Albedo Brave, Gen, Presents, caf, mild anxiety, paperwork is evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commander_5279_Morai/pseuds/Commander_5279_Morai
Summary: Christmas on Albedo Brave starring Commander Striker, General Tapal and his padawan Commander Kestis along with many others!
Relationships: 13th Battalion Commander (Striker) and Jaro Tapal, Cal Kestis and Jaro Tapal
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Christmas on Albedo Brave

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any recognisable characters with the exception of my OCs.  
> Special thanks to [Cha0s_Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cha0s_Cat) for beta-reading this fic for me. Thanks!  
> My gratitude also goes to [Skortch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skortch), [vrokroa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrokroa) and [Astro_Kay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astro_Kay) for letting me borrow their clone ocs for this fic! They will be listed in the end notes below.
> 
> Please read the tags to make sure this is the story for you. If anything above triggers you feel free to exist stage left.
> 
> Merry Christmas! Enjoy Boxing Day and have an early Happy New Year!

It is a normal day on the Albedo Brave. Iron Battalion has just emerged victorious from yet another series of battles against the unrelenting Separatists for what feels like the millionth time in the row and Commander Striker is exhausted. He has already checked in with all of his troops, checked in with their ration stock, as well as checked in with the General and other commanding officers concerning strategies and logistics. Striker is quite frankly ready to hit the hay. But before he can collapse into his bunk’s sweet inviting arms, he has one last thing to tackle.

Paperwork.

 _Whoever invented paperwork is clearly evil_ , Striker thinks to himself sourly as he fills in yet another report, this time about clogged up toilets in the freshers. He skims through the contents, his exhausted mind blearily noting key information as he signs off on the sheet. With a yawn he then places the complete report onto the short stack of completed work on the right side of the desk. Glancing at the small mountain of paper to his left, Striker lets out a weary sigh and grabs another sheet from the top of the pile.

This mind-numbingly boring process continues for several hours. It only stops when General Jaro Tapal comes into his bunkroom, takes one look at his sorry state and declares that the paperwork can wait until morning. He can only muster a ‘thanks sir’ before Tapal uses the force to gently encourage him to sleep. Striker happily gives in to the sweet comfort of rest.

A few hours later, the delightful smell of the sweet, delicious scent of caf drags Striker back into the land of the living. _Wait, caf? That’s not normal_. Striker pries open one of his eyes and is met with the sight of his general holding a cup of what smells like exotic caf. The rich earthy scent is a marked contrast to the bitter caf usually found in GAR rations.

Sitting up with a muffled groan, Striker mentally curses himself for forgetting to take off his armor before falling asleep. Doing his best to stretch out the muscles that have stiffened up during his nap, he watches as his general makes his way to the side of his desk. His desk that still has a significant pile of unfinished paperwork on it. He flushes and fumbles, “General I can explain-”

His general only chuckles. “It’s fine Commander,” Tapal says, “Now I suggest you come outside after you clean up a bit.” He places the caf on the one spot without clutter and proceeds to leave. “Oh and Striker,” Tapal speaks with a fond grin in his face. “I believe this caf belongs to you.”

Striker can only stare at him with a dumbfounded expression when the words registers in his head. “It’s mine?” he blurts out.

“I believe so,” his general smiles and closes the sliding door behind him.

Striker eyes the steaming caf on his desk. He waits for a few seconds, his gaze quickly darting around the room. _This can’t be real can it?_ Moments pass, and no one comes back to reclaim this treasure. Striker is now very certain that the General was not lying. It is his!  
Doing a small happy dance in his mind, Striker eagerly goes through his usual routine and cleans himself up. He also tidies up his desk and drinks some of that delightful ambrosia of life saving properties! Now feeling fully refreshed and properly dressed, he braves the world outside of his small corner in the Albedo Brave. His fellow Commander Silver is outside waiting.

“How long have you been waiting here?” He narrows his eyes at him.

“Don’t worry. Not long,” _That smile looks fake._

Not long meaning ‘more than 10 minutes’ in Silver speak.

“Silver…”

Silver's shoulders slump slightly “Fine. It’s been 13 minutes.”

 _What!_ “Then we better hurry! Did General Tapal say where are we supposed to meet him?” His hands start to fidget.

“I believe the mess hall?”

“Then let’s go!” They speed down the hallway.

Striker just cannot believe it. He has been having such a good day so far. Hopefully this small transgression won’t set him back today.

When they arrive at the mess hall, he is - for lack of a better term - shocked.

It has been completely transformed. The ceiling is decked with green and red decorations all over with tinsel and baubles hanging around in different corners of the hall. A potted plant, about as tall as a standard gunship stands in the middle with a glistening star shining.  
The atmosphere is also very different. While they did not incur many losses from the battle the day before, there are still some fallen brothers that Striker knows he will add to his never ending list of remembrances that he recites daily.

Now it seems much lighter, less worn down by the losses accumulating on their consciousness. He can see brothers and sisters milling around chatting freely with each other in ways one will never see in the halls of Kamino. Pats and laughs, conversations in Basic mixed with some Mando’a. Some of the vod’e are in armour while others are simply content with their blacks. It almost seems...festive.

“Striker!” he feels the thump created by Commander Kestis’ slam as the kid hugs him. He naturally hugs back.

“Hey Commander. I hope I am not too late.”

“It’s Cal! And no, you are just in time!” Cal says, almost bouncing off the floor.

Ka’ra the kid just looks so innocent sometimes. Striker sometimes questions the wisdom of a Republic that sends kids, jetti kids but still kids to fight a war for them. Alas, as a clone, it's not as if he has the power to do anything.

“Here.” Cal places something in his hand.

It’s a piece of paper depicting a beautiful sunset on Hoth with reds and oranges bleeding out from its semi sun. On the bottom the letters 'CK ' is signed with the message 'Merry Christmas Striker!' written in narrow thin writing.

“Do you like it?” He looks up and is met with those kriffing loth cat eyes. Dank farrik, he stands by his assessment, the Commander is way too cute for his own good. Those eyes have even managed to convince Dalk to share some of his chocolate with him.

“It looks good, kid.” He is not lying. It looks genuinely good. He wonders if Cal is secretly a professional at painting landscapes.

The compliment rewards him with a beaming smile from Iron Battalion's Jedi Commander. "Thanks," Cal replies, "come on, Master Tapal is waiting for you!"

And just like that, the emotional high vanishes. Striker gulps and takes a deep breath.

Right, the General.

"Alright," _he probably just wants to talk about the paperwork_ , Striker thinks to himself a bit hysterically. _Yes, definitely the paperwork_.

Cal grabs his arm and leads him to where the general is. Not surprisingly, he is among a group of his siblings. What is surprising, is what he is doing there. Usually General Tapal likes to keep a small distance and sometimes engage in some small chat. Today however, he is instead more involved in the activities. Having a lively chat with the group as well as being a part of a game of Dejarik. A game that the General appears to be winning.

"-and checkmate!" So he is right. On the other side, Creed groans at his defeat. Six-four disguises a laugh as a cough.

"Should have known better than to challenge the General vod," Edge says, a smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.

Zop pats his shoulder in sympathy. "Next time vod, there is always a next time."

"Good match Creed. I look forward to another game in the future," Tapal stands up to his full height, easily towering over the rest of them. "Now I believe my padawan is here with a guest."

"Master Tapal, here he is."

"Come, Commander, I believe we have some matters to discuss."

 _Come on Striker_ , he thinks to himself. _It's probably only about the paperwork_. He can hear some snickering from the terrible duo of the battalion before they are shushed by Boots, who has joined the group with some drinks for Duty and himself.

A deep breath in, a deep breath out. "Of course sir."

Striker follows the general through the crowd, as Cal breaks off to join Dalk and Jackdaw at the food and drinks section with some offerings at hand, what appears to be some nabooian coconut chocolate and some fizzy drink.

They walk over to a corner of the hall - where green is the dominant colour of the decorations - and out into an empty hallway. As they get further away from the crowd, Striker’s nerve starts to fire up. His palms, even covered with gloves, feel sweaty. Finally, they settle at a small nook in an unused dust filled storage room.

“Now I presumed you are wondering what I have called you here for?” Tapal mentions.

“Yes sir.”

“Striker I believe you have already earned the right to use my first name in private,” he raises an eyebrow.

“Of course uhh Jaro.”

“I would just like to talk about yesterday.”

 _Kriff_. He knew it.

“I’m sorry sir. The paperwork will be finished soon sir. I-” hands land on his shoulders.

“Breathe with me okay? 1, 2, 3 in. 1, 2, 3, out.”

Striker mechanically follows his general’s exaggerated breaths, his heart playing drums in his ears. Eventually, he can feel it slow to a mere jog on a typical stress free day.

“Now, are you feeling more stable?”

“Yes si-Jaro.” He can feel heat burning his cheeks. The hands fall away.

“Commander. Striker, you are aware that the paperwork does not have to be due right away do you? Especially straight after a battle?” Jaro says gently, his tone softening by a pinch.

“Umm, no?” Striker winces at the slight squeak at the end.

Jaro contemplates for a moment. “While I certainly appreciate the promptness, I do not mind if you take a day or two to go through reports that - while important to the functionality of the GAR - are dry enough to knock anyone out, even Master Yoda in extreme cases.”  
That...sounds like something Striker is not sure he wants to know.

“Of course. I apologise for making a fuss of it sir.”

“Do not apologise for it. I certainly do not punish Cal for his curiosity and sometimes clumsiness. Now I believe you have a party to return to.”

“Uh Jaro, what exactly is this party about?”

“Normally, we would have celebrated Christmas at the temple. Due to the war, we have to find other methods to celebrate the annual holiday. Cal insisted that we include your siblings and that-” he points to the mass hall,“is the result”.

“I should be going then. Thank you general.”

“You as well Commander.”

Feeling more calm than he has since the morning bliss of caf, Striker moves back into the party, passing by Siren who seems to enjoy his role as the party’s DJ. He also has a drawing with him, a helmet surrounded by musical notes. Now that he is no longer clouded with pending anxiety, he realises that every vod’e has some kind of token. Some are drawings like his and Siren’s, others are materials or food, such as Dalk’s chocolate and Dice’s miniature coloured dice.

“Would you like some?” someone extends a bag of chips. It is Firefly, one of their most fearsome medics. Today, her hair is in a bun with a clip that he suspects is also from Cal. She eyes the drawing still on his hand. “So the little commander has given you something too.”

“Aren’t you not supposed to endorse unhealthy eating?”

“Only when I am on shift. It is exhausting enough to continuously remind our siblings to not skip medical and rest when they need to,” she gives a side eye to him. “Moments like this makes me feel glad that I am not assigned to the 501st. Poor Kix is having an aneurysm over the disaster that is the 501st." She shakes the bag. "So do you want it?”

“What flavour is it?”

“Barbecued porgs with caramel.”

“Sure.” He takes the chips. “Thanks.”

“Your welcome. Now, come on and join us. It’s about time you start relaxing for a bit.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Skortch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skortch): Siren, Dalk and Jackdaw (+ Striker)  
> [vrokroa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vrokroa): Edge, Six-four, Boots, Duty, Zop and Creed  
> [Astro_Kay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astro_Kay): Dice
> 
> Feel free to kudos and leave a comment! Thanks for reading and may the force be with you all!


End file.
